


Needlework

by autumnsolstice9



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sansa POV, focuses on arya and sansas relationship, implied Jon Snow/Arya Stark - Freeform, just the starks learning how to live together again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnsolstice9/pseuds/autumnsolstice9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa has never been close to Arya, but that was before the war. Now that House Stark is back again, she's determined to change that, but with this new Arya, she doesn't even know where to begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are certain things they don’t talk about.

Sansa has never mentioned Joffrey taking her to see father’s head, or the fear that gripped her during the Battle of the Blackwater. She speaks about a lot, but she can never find the words for those few memories that paralyze her. She’s talked about how she was raped, crying until her throat felt raw, shaking hands clutching her sides while Arya, Bran, and Jon try to soothe her. But still- there are things that they never talk about.

Jon is the only one who tells his whole story- though he breezes over Ygritte with a quiet voice that threatens to let the world know his heartache- and finishes with a shaky smile. His face is still solemn, but it is no longer resigned like it was when he was just the bastard of Winterfell. Now, he is a man with a ragged scar and acceptance with the world he lives in. Being a bastard means nothing when someone has fought against White Walkers beyond the Wall. Sansa thinks he is braver than the rest of them because he can talk about what happened, he can open old wounds unlike the rest of them. When Arya moves to sit with Jon and kiss his palm like she did when she was a child, Sansa says nothing. Years ago, she would have scoffed at Arya’s behavior, because Jon was just a bastard brother to her then, but now she is happy for the brief familiarity it brings.

Bran talks of magic and white walkers, of Jojen and Hodor who were so brave and who sacrificed themselves for him. He says Meera Reed had a bright smile and just wanted to make it home. He has to stop his story halfway through- after Sansa asks him where the girl who makes Bran smiles go soft is, where sweet Meera Reed is. “I don’t know,” he breathes out, his hands forming fists. “She left. She just left and I can’t find her. She could be dead- I don’t know where she is.”

Sansa moves to Bran and grabs his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles like their mother used to do, and watches out of the corner of her eye as Arya lifts her hand to her lips and whispers “Valar morghulis” in an empty voice.

Arya says nothing else the rest of the night, instead leaning into Jon as he runs his hand through her hair and whispers stories to her, and it scares Sansa to think that what her sister went through might be too much to speak of.

***

Sansa finds Arya in the practice yard, sparring with Jon. Her sister moves with grace, easily moving away from Jon’s practiced swings. Arya’s face betrays no emotion as she twists Needle in her hand in a complex move that Sansa cannot follow, the blade whacking Jon’s armor with a strength she didn’t know her sister possessed.

Eventually Jon knocks Needle out of Arya’s hand, and instead of getting angry like the Arya of old would have, the new Arya grabs a branch off the ground. She closes her eyes, and Sansa watches as Jon falters, unsure of whether he should attack or not, but then Arya begins to move, spinning the branch round and whacking Jon on the arm with it. Each time Jon hits the branch, Sansa’s breath catches in her throat as pieces get cut off, but Arya keeps going, moving like she is in a lethal dance.

When the branch is whacked out of her hands, Arya opens her eyes and quickly swings her leg out, knocking Jon off his feet. “Don’t hold back next time,” Arya says in a hollow voice that is all she uses before grabbing Jon’s hand and helping him off the ground before leaving the practice yard.

Sansa’s eyes meets Jon’s, and she knows they’re both thinking the same thing:

What happened to Arya?

***

Sansa still likes to do her stitches. It makes her feel like she is a child once again, learning from Septa Mordane and Mother. She enters the room where she used to learn, expecting to be alone with her stitches, but finds Arya there, a needle and thread in hand.

“Arya?” she questions. Arya had never liked to sew- she had always had crooked stitches and would often run from the Septa. “What are you doing here?”

Arya doesn’t look up from her stitches, “I can leave if you want. I just wanted to finish this.”

“No, no, you’re fine here. I’m just confused. I thought you didn’t like sewing?” 

Her sister finally looks up, and with the light streaming through the window Sansa gets a clear view of Arya’s face. There are light scars on her cheekbone and chin that she hadn’t noticed before, and once again Sansa wishes she knew just where Arya had been during their time apart.

“Stitches are important. I never realized it as a child, but I know it now. They can help close wounds- they were really helpful to me.”

Sansa had seen no scars on Arya that were big enough to have been stitched together, but perhaps that’s another secret Arya doesn’t plan on telling. Sansa won’t put pressure on her to tell her story, she can tell them all when the time is ready. Instead, Sansa gives her a warm smile and pulls out a light blue fabric. “Well, I think there’s room for both of us. I’m making a dress for the feast with the Queen that’s coming up. What do you think of the color?”

There is the same blank expression on Arya’s face when she regards the fabric and Sansa, but then her eyes brighten and a small smile appears- more than any emotion she’s seen her sister show since she returned to Winterfell. “It’s beautiful, Sansa. You’ll look amazing in it.”

It’s the closest she has ever felt to her sister since the war.

***

Each night before she goes to sleep, Sansa likes to wander the castle. Roaming the halls helps her relax- the cool air helps ward off the memory of sweltering King’s Landing- and she always makes sure to light a candle in the rooms on Robb, Rickon, her mother, and her father. _Someday,_ she thinks, _these rooms won’t be empty. Someday there will be once again be children in Winterfell._ In her mind, she can picture little red haired children- whether her own or Bran’s- running through the halls and practicing their archery. There would be children with the Stark’s long face and dark hair- like Jon and Arya- who would be impossible to stop in battle. 

_There will be wolves in Winterfell._

The smile that graces her face is secret and completely her own, and she wears it like it is a protective spell on her way back to her chambers. On her way, she passes Arya’s room. There is a small whimpering noise from inside, but it quickly disappears. She pauses, hesitating to take her next step forward, before ultimately deciding to go into Arya’s room.

A voice inside stops her- one that is definitely not Arya’s. It sounds like Jon Snow, but she is unfamiliar to the soft tone he uses with Arya. She knows Jon Snow as Lord Commander and Prince in the North; she knows him as a commander to her armies as Queen in the North. This side of him is different to her, but, she realizes, it's something Arya knows well. 

She wavers outside the door, something in her unable to move away, when Arya begins to talk between sniffles. “Jon,” she begins, her voice once again young and full of feeling, something Sansa has been trying to get, “I think I’m ready to tell you what happened.”

She knows that she should begin to move now- this is something secret that isn’t meant for her ears- but she stays rooted in place. Arya is quieter now, and more stable, like she is trying to put armor over her voice. “I was there when Father got beheaded- and Jon, oh god, it was awful. He saw me in the crowd, and I couldn’t save him. Someone blocked the actual execution, but I remember the head rolling, and Sansa was screaming and I couldn’t protect either of them.”

The pain of her father’s execution rolls through her as the memory hits her- the smell of the blood and how her father’s eyes looked dead- and she can’t stomach anymore, heading to her room and trying to catch her breath. She spends the night with the candle by her bed lit, focusing on how it flickers in her room and creates shadows- she’s looking for anything that will keep the image of her dead father out of her head- before she finally drifts to a fitful sleep when the sun is already rising.

It wasn’t her story to listen to anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is grieving, parts of Arya's past is unfolded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey it's a new chapter! let me know what you guys think

When Sansa’s handmaiden wakes her in the morning for breakfast, she checks her reflection in the mirror, sighing as she covers up the dark circles that hang under her eyes. She is used to it by now- the inability to sleep at night in the ghost of what their home once was, but she is a Stark, and she will endure. Sleep is not a difficult enemy, not when she has faced Joffrey and Ramsay Bolton. At breakfast, she glances at her siblings and notes that both Arya and Jon sit closer together than they did yesterday, both with bags under their eyes and grim smiles that they reserve only for each other. When she or Bran make eye contact with them, their faces transform once again into blank slates, unable to be read by anyone but each other.

She envies them. _Margaery should be here. She would have sat by my side and we would whisper about how things have changed. She would have made me laugh, and we would have giggled together until we forgot we were ever in pain._ But Margaery is dead, and even if she were alive, Sansa knows that they wouldn’t match the close intimacy of Jon and Arya. _Marg and I could have lived happily ever after._ If she had known what would happen to her little rose, she would have made Petyr turn back and bring her with them. They could have escaped King’s Landing together and gone to Highgarden. 

That would have been like one of the songs she loved, but she had realized years ago that life was not a song. _Maybe with Margaery, it could have been different,_ she liked to think. But it was too late for that, and now she couldn’t stop the slight bitterness as she watched Jon and Arya read each other like a book that others were blind to.

Bran was staring at her with a queer expression on his face, as if he could read her mind. Knowing him and his newfound power, he probably knew everything that went through her head. Sansa mustered a smile for him, and when he raised his eyebrows at her she paid it no mind.

It hasn’t escaped her notice that, with Jon claimed as a Targaryen, his relationship with the Stark family would soon change. Queen Daenerys, his aunt, would be coming from King’s Landing and likely be taking him back south with her. The bubble they were living in would pop, and Arya would lose Jon. Even if she was jealous, Sansa didn’t want that to happen. She knew how it felt to be separated from Margaery, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

She watches as Jon and Arya hold a silent conversation, their eyes on each other with a deep focus. As if her sister can feel Sansa’s eyes on her, she turns her head. Her gray eyes are bloodshot, and so much like her father’s that she has to look away. In her head, she sees Ned Stark in a prison cell before his execution, staring at her with those same eyes.

Her breakfast now seems unappealing, so she abruptly stands, ignoring the evident surprise on Jon and Bran’s face- Arya’s still a terrifying blankness- and leaves the dining hall, her thoughts with gray eyes of a dead father and the love of a dead girl.

***

The dress for Queen Daenerys’s visit to Winterfell sits in the corner, still unfinished, as Sansa moves her needle on a new design. It is nothing more than a handkerchief- nothing that will consume her time like her dress will- but every stitch needs to be perfect. She is placing roses and flowers across it- the largest one a red rose in the corner similar to the one Margaery gave her so many years ago.

This time, Arya is the one who stumbles onto Sansa. Her sister enters the room without a sound, and Sansa is blinded by her sadness and rage that she takes no notice until Arya is right in front of her. Her sister does not say a word, only peers at the handkerchief, before she sits in a chair across from Sansa and resumes the piece she had been working on the last time they saw each other doing stitches.

It is long before Arya speaks. “I used to love flowers. I loved to see all the different types when I would travel. Never in my life have I seen a rose as beautiful as the one on the Tyrell sigil, but yours seems to live up to it.” Her face is less shuttered than it has been in a long time, eyes on Sansa with concern.

Sansa feels like vomiting. Ever since Arya had returned, they had not spoken often to each other. The one time her sister does speak, it’s to talk of her ‘travels’. Somewhere in her head, she knows that it wasn’t really a travel for her sister, that it was likely life and death and running away from people who sought to kill her, but she is _angry._ Her head is still spinning with thoughts of Margaery, and how Arya could look at the flowers on her _travels_ , but Sansa couldn’t even think of flowers when she ran from the crown.

She knows she is being petulant. She knows that Arya was just trying to help. She knows that the anger in her has nothing to do with her sister and everything to do with years of being a hostage and unable to deal with her grief, but it doesn’t stop her. She doesn’t yell- Sansa learned long ago that yelling was nothing compared to the deadly evenness her voice would take on- and leans in towards Arya, feeling steel in her eyes and voice. “You know _nothing._ You have seen _nothing._ Did you watch father die? Were you held hostage by Lannisters? Were you _sold_ by a man you trusted? Don’t tell me about your _stupid_ flowers and _stupid_ travels when you don’t know what the rest of us have been through!”

She is screaming, at this point, her voice throwing knives at her sister. Arya sits there, her face shuttered off once again. This is what Sansa can’t handle- she can’t stand seeing her sister so hollow and nothing like the girl she once was, she can’t stand the memories from the war, she can’t stand waking up and wishing for Margaery Tyrell to answer letters that the ravens send to no one. She can’t stand feeling overwhelmed like this- she couldn’t help herself, or Margaery, and now she can’t even help her _sister._

So she yells. She throws everything she has at Arya, calling her Horseface and every insult her mind can come up with, just something to get the pain out of her body. Arya sits there and takes it, and in the back of Sansa’s mind, somewhere under the anger, she is thankful for her sister for that more than anything.

Arya does not break under Sansa’s curses and threats. Her eyes follow Sansa, but she does not move a muscle. She is stone, and Sansa has had enough of her sister being emotionless, so she aims to hurt her. “When the guards came for us, the night they took father to the prison cells,” she says, her voice cool and full of poison, “I didn’t look for you. I didn’t look for you for you at all during the war. And you know what? I doubt Robb raised armies for you. I doubt he wanted you back. You’re just Arya Horseface and Arya Underfoot. Who would look for you?”

She wants to take the words back the moment she has said them, and all of a sudden the fight goes out of Sansa as she takes in what she just said to her sister.

Arya gasps, so quiet it is almost impossible to hear, and she closes her eyes so tightly Sansa thinks it must hurt. Arya throws her stitches aside, and Sansa gets a look at the design. It’s a boy and a wolf, but the red hair and beard makes it impossible to ignore the fact that it’s Robb, riding Greywind into battle. Sansa feels like throwing up again, and Arya just sits there, her face twisted as though it’s in immeasurable pain.

_She is in pain,_ Sansa tells herself. _You wanted to hurt her, and you did._

When Arya finally opens her eyes, there are tears swimming in them. “I’m sorry,” she begins, “that I didn’t save you from King’s Landing. If I could go back and save you, or Syrio, or father, I would have, in a heartbeat. I’m sorry they hurt you. I really am sorry that happened to you, but don’t you dare say Robb wouldn’t look for me. He wouldn’t have abandoned me.”

“Arya-” Sansa begins, but she is cut off but Arya letting out a sob so devastating that she feels as if she is intruding. She grabs her younger sister’s hand and begins to rub circles into it, all while Arya repeats to herself that Robb wouldn’t have left her. 

Arya looks at Sansa a while later, her face red and blotchy from crying. Her voice is hollow, and her eyes are locked with Sansa’s, but they are far away as if Arya doesn’t really see her sister. “A girl saw her father die. A girl was at the Red Wedding. A girl did not get to her mother or brother in time. A girl is sorry.” 

This time, Sansa does puke, her hands clenched around her sides as she empties her stomach.

When Jon finally finds them a moment later, Arya looks up at him and a flicker of recognition comes across her face. “A girl knows you. A girl called you Jon Snow. A girl loves you very much.”

Sansa had seen Jon in battle, slicing men in two and running across fields, but she has never seen him move so fast as he did when he crossed the room to Arya and pulled her into his arms. He began to whisper to her, his words both calming and full of anxiety, and Sansa wishes she could hear so she would know what to do when her sister disappeared like that. Arya held Jon’s hand and stared at it for a moment before her eyes flickered across the room to Sansa. 

“A girl knows you. A girl is sorry you still hurt. A girl forgives you.”

Sansa flees the room before her tears can fall from her face, running into Bran in the hall. “Did you know?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Did you know she saw the Red Wedding? That she saw father die? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Bran looks at her with sorrow. “It was not my place to tell. She would tell you when she felt she was ready.”

She looks at her brother, and she thinks of how Arya- her strong, warrior sister- had looked fragile when she mentioned Robb.

“Bran,” she begins, her voice brokering no argument, “show me Arya at the Red Wedding.”

When she returns from the godswood with Bran, her mind haunted by what she just saw, she finds that it is already night. She checks Arya’s room, finding her asleep with Jon curled around her, much like they did when they were children, tear tracks on both of their faces, and once again Sansa feels nauseous. She will have to apologize in the morning to her sister, and she will have to learn how to live with Arya if Jon leaves with his aunt.

_It can wait until the morning,_ she thinks, before she falls asleep to dreams of a little girl running towards her mother and brother only to find out she was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is sapphic and unstoppable
> 
> Also, I love Jon and Arya's relationship and this is kinda jonrya if you want. But really I just want to focus on Sansa and Arya's relationship and how I think it would go.
> 
> I do like Sansa, but you have to admit she has a tense relationship with Arya. Sansa has grown a lot as a character, but she still has grief and I feel like she would react like a child since she never got to actually deal with it completely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa learns a bit about what happened to Arya and relates

Arya has not left her chamber for three days now, and Sansa is worried. Bran visits their sister, telling her of his visions and wolf dreams. Jon visits most often- he nearly never leaves her side- but Sansa has yet to see her sister. She knows she should visit, but she is still trying to wrap her mind around what she said and how she acted. She is acting cowardly and she knows it, but each time she tries to think of what to say to her sister, her mind goes blank and she feels guilt lay itself on her shoulders.

Eventually, Bran is the one who gets her to visit Arya. “She disappeared from herself for a while, but she’s coming back. She needs family there for her if she is going to ever get better,” he says, his voice full of a weight Sansa did not know her brother could carry. 

Still, Sansa is confused. How could Arya just disappear from herself? She felt as if she were the only one who didn’t know about what truly happened to her sister. Jon knew- Arya most definitely told him- and Bran probably saw it in his visions, but Sansa felt as if she was trying to solve a puzzle with broken pieces.

When she pushes her way into Arya’s chambers, her sister is staring out the window and for once Jon Snow is absent from the room. “Arya,” she begins awkwardly, unsure of how to string together her words to let her sister know how sorry she really is. Sansa had never been one for apologizing- as a child in Winterfell she was selfish, and then she arrived in King’s Landing and had no reason to apologize to those who harmed her.

Her sister does not move from her spot by the window. “Did you really not look for me? When the guards came, back in King’s Landing, did you forget me?”

Sansa’s mouth goes dry and all thoughts leave her head. “Of course I searched for you,” she lies, the words floating her mouth with surprising ease. She did not know when she became such a natural liar, but she also did not know when her sister became unrecognizable. In truth, she had not searched for her sister. Thoughts of Lannister men and fear had coursed through her veins and all Sansa could think of was her father and Joffrey.

_Arya probably looked for me,_ she bitterly thinks, _I always wanted a knight from the songs, but my sister is the closest thing to one. The men in the world are cruel- I should have been kinder to her._

“That’s a lie,” Arya says, her voice even and without emotion. “You can’t lie to me anymore, no one can lie to me anymore.” Her sister faces her now, grey eyes glinting with what looks like anger and then sadness before it is concealed with her usual blankness.

The blood rushing to Sansa’s face is admittance enough that she told a lie, but Arya makes no move to yell like she would have done when they were children. She watches as her sister’s face quickly becomes resigned before handing her the design she had seen her working on the day they had argued. 

Arya gingerly takes it, and it is all the apology Sansa can give her, as the two sit down and take out their needles, letting the tension slip away from the room with each stitch.

***

“What happened to you?” Sansa asks her sister on a snowy evening, both of them sitting by the fire in the Great Hall with Bran. “After the gold cloaks came for us, where did you go?”

Arya doesn’t say anything and continues to stare into the fire, almost as if the flames held answers to questions her sister couldn’t ask. Sansa feels disappointment leak into her- she had thought Arya would finally open up to her, that after a month of living in unity they would be able to talk about their past, but it seems that she is wrong. Her lips come together in a tight line and she turns towards the fire as well, hoping to see whatever it is her sister looks for in the flames.

“Once,” Arya begins, in a voice so soft it could have been the snow falling outside, “I saw a man come back to life. Beric Dondarrion. The Hound had cut him down, but then Thoros of Myr brought him back. ‘The Lord of Light did it,’ Thoros had said to me. He had no power, just what his red god gave him. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. The same red god brought back Jon, but Sansa, no red god can bring back the version of me you have created in your head. What happened to me happened, it’s not worth dwelling on.” She spoke calmly and with an air of certainty that made her once-wild sister seem regal.

Sansa felt herself grow indignant. She had not produced some version of Arya in her head- she had _known_ her sister, but the girl in front of her was a stranger. “All I want are answers. I want to know what happened to my sister to make her so different from the girl I knew. You think I have a fantasy of who you were, but that is not true. I knew you as a child and I know you now, but what I want is to learn how you went from my wild sister to this-” she said, waving her hand at her sister- “I want a family again. I’m so tired of being just people who live together. I want a family.”

Her voice cracked at the end, splitting under the pressure of trying to restore some semblance of unity into her relationship with Arya. Her sister’s eyes flicker to her, taking in the red cheeks and furrowed eyebrows, and her voice is empty of pain when she speaks next. “Sansa, I don’t know how to give you family. I can try, but I’m not sure how to give you what you want.” Her face is screwed up in confusion and what looks like pain, but Sansa doesn’t know what her sister is remembering that makes her like that.

_I don’t care if she doesn’t want me dwelling on it, I want to know what happened to her, why she is in pain like this._

She looks at Bran from the corner of her eyes and sees his tiny nod- his silent approval- and turns back to Arya. “Earlier in the week you said no one could lie to you anymore? Who lied to you?”

Arya’s response is immediate and angry. “Don’t patronize me. You’re not mother or father or some Septa. Don’t think that you can talk to me like a child just because I don’t behave like a perfect lady.”

It is Bran who interrupts their sister, his voice calming and full of wisdom. “We’re worried, Arya. Only Jon knows what happened to you- I could only see you in glimpses during my visions. We just want to know so we better understand. We don’t want you to hurt anymore.” Arya immediately calms and they send each other warm smiles, as if there wasn’t a deep fury in the room a moment ago. Sansa envies her brother, for just a moment, because she doesn’t have that connection with Arya. She has tried being diplomatic, or motherly, or just plain angry, but none of it had ever gotten her closer to her sister, but the feeling is gone as soon as it came. _Even Bran doesn’t know what has happened to her, not truly. I am not the only one being closed out._

“I’m sorry,” Arya says, her tone light. It is as if a moment ago she hadn’t been ready to scream at her sister, and Sansa marvels at the control her sister has over her emotions. “You are all just trying to help. Sister, I don’t know how to really answer your question. It’s complicated. There was a boy, when I first escaped King’s Landing, who was with me on our way to the Night’s Watch. He was named Gendry, and he was with me when the Lannister men attacked, in Harrenhal, during our time with the Brotherhood with Banners. He was always there.” Arya’s voice is full of affection, and once again Sansa thinks of her dream to live in Highgarden with Margaery. If her sister felt the same way for Gendry that she did Margaery, she couldn’t help but wonder why the boy wasn’t with them now.

_I wouldn’t have let Margaery go,_ she thinks, _and if Arya let this boy go then she’s a fool._ Jon entering the room, his cloak covered in snow and his boots leaving puddles as he sits by the fire, interrupts her thoughts, and she tunes back in to her sister’s voice.

“I had to leave the Brotherhood, they wanted to ransom me off. I was going to head to Robb and mother because they were close by, and when I asked him to come with me, he said no. I begged him and cried, but he said he wouldn’t serve another lord and that the Brotherhood was his family. ‘I could be your family,’ I told him, but he still refused. ‘You’d be m’lady,’ he said, because he was a stubborn bull. He was taken by the Red Priestess the next day, and that was the last I ever saw of him.”

“I loved a girl once, in King’s Landing. Margaery Tyrell. She may not have been a knight, but she made me feel like I was living in a song,” Sansa whispers, trying to form a connection to her sister by sharing secrets and stories. “I think it was true love, or as close to it as I could possibly get. Was it like that with Gendry?”

Arya looks up from the fire once again, her eyes moving quickly from Sansa to Bran before landing on Jon. “No,” she whispers, “it wasn’t.”

After that, her sister tells them of what it was like to live with the Brotherhood, never mentioning Harrenhal from before her time with them or the Hound from after, and Sansa takes in every bit of information given to her. She doesn’t fail to notice how Jon had moved his chair closer to Arya’s or how they held hands, but she doesn’t mention it either. When she leaves the room with Bran, her sister and Jon still sit by the fire, accompanied only by silence.

Sansa watches her sister and Jon stare at each other in silent conversation before glancing away, making a vow to protect her sister’s heart better than she had protected her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this is more jon/arya then intended but i love them. my children.
> 
> also remember gendry? bc the writers don't.

**Author's Note:**

> idk how I like this so if people want more I'll write more


End file.
